Posted by: tlnemethy | May 10, 2012

Odd Jobs Make Odd Stories

For the past few days, and ever since I arrived at the Wild Strawberry Lodge, I’ve been tasked with random odd jobs before the fishing season officially begins. Few of these jobs really has anything to do with what I’ll actually be doing for most of the season, but hey, at least now I’ll have stories to tell. I’ve been a maid, a busboy, a grunt, fish vacuumer, photographer, and awkward lurker. Image

I wrote an advertising editorial today, well actually yesterday, but I actually sent it in today. I really think this is something I could be doing as a career. Blogging and advertising seem to really click with me. Maybe I’ll look into that a bit more. ImageAnyways, I eventually ran out of stuff to do that actually made sense, and then had to move furniture and boxes around so it seemed like I was being productive.  I wish I had more duties. The remainder of today was spent outside hosing down the Lodge vans. This is possibly the worst idea ever: at least with the grime on them they only look dirty, when you clean them off they just look old. Somehow, I ended up drenched in frigid water for a few hours, my sweatshirt dragging at the seams. I blame it on my scrubbing buddy’s retaliation for me “accidentally” vacuuming her sweatshirt up. We are an odd pair, but somehow she actually seems to be as humorously twisted as I am. 

The Texans blew their truck up tonight while I was vacuum packing fish. I told them I’d go with, but they didn’t want to wait for me to finish. Sad. But at least I wasn’t there when The Punisher shit the bed. Oh well, they’ll be able to get her back and running in no time. She currently resides on top of a mountain with a tire blown off the rim and trapped in a muddy ditch. I hear word that they’re trying to put the wheel back on with some sort of Myth Busters-proven explosion method. Something about a can of ether and a lighter being able to blow the tire back on the rim. I just hope they don’t blow themselves up because the staff cabin would be desolate without their crackpot routine to fall back on.

I learned today that there are way too many weird regulations on the gutting of fish. ImageApparently some sort of rockfish are allowed to be gutted on the vessel with  their carcass thrown to the ocean, others are not. Some can be gutted and degilled, some have to be whole, some can be mutilated entirely, some must return with a one inch by one inch square patch of skin remaining. Gah. Just give me the fish on a plate and I’m happy. I met captain Mike today. Saw the guy on the website and thought to myself, man, I like that mustache. His mustache is even more awesome in real life. True story. Nice guy too, totally taught me way too much about the vacuum sealer. I can die happy now that I’m an expert on the proper sealing and freezing of processed fish carcasses.

I even tried to coax the eagles from the treetops with a tasty treat of halibut and salmon remnants, but they were being painfully shy so all I got from them was a treetop picture. ImageAnother weird Alaskan tidbit: Pterodactyls are totally still alive and kicking. They have these huge ravens here, about the size of the so called “extinct” dinosaurs, and they make obnoxious death rattle noises from their perches. I’m pretty sure I saw one attack an eagle the other day. The natives say that they are the spirits of the ancestors, which totally means it isn’t good juju to kill them. Even if they fly away with your baby. Parents be warned: dingos probably won’t get your kids, but the ravens might.




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